Long Live The King
by PolarisWhatever
Summary: OS. Today, there will be a grand celebration in Wonderland. Today the tyrant falls. "Off with my head!"


Don't we all love crazy power-tripping queens? I know I do.

Disclaimer : Insert disclaimer. Yeees I did.

XXX

I wished things were different, he says. I don't really want to do this. I wish you had given me a chance, realized the error of your ways. I tried to change you, I did. But now I can't turn back. You forced me to do this. I have no choice.

Wimp, she spits. At least _I_ didn't make up pathetic excuses.

The crowd is gathered in the meadow, among the broken glass and rubble, stomping on the remains of her faded glory. They look like they're coming to a festival, and in way, that's what it is. There are cheers and jeers fusing from a thousand of faces drawn in morbid excitement and fascination, clapping their hands, whistling, smiling. She recognizes some of them, even though they've come without their suits and their elaborated headgears. Look at them, standing behind the flag of justice like they belong, eager to serve freedom just like they were eager to kill and torture, not so long ago.

They seem to have forgotten how readily they drew their guns against the same people who are now standing beside them, how they charged and punched and shot without a second thought. They've all been magically cleared of their sins the second they turned their weapons around. But that's how dogs are, she knows, when they smell that the wind has changed direction and a stronger pack leader appears, they roll over and show their bellies. It has happened once, and it will happen again. The sweet boy will just have to learn his lesson.

It's regrettable, he says, and she laughs in his face, in the sweet, handsome face of her golden little boy. Born with a silver spoon in his mouth, sleeping in silk sheets and drinking in crystal glasses, ignoring everything of the real world outside the window of the palace.

He's adorably funny, with that little rebellion of his, his airs of righteousness, the conscience he's grown like a toddler suddenly becomes fond of a new, exciting toy. He would fit right in a pretty picture with his blue eyes, his golden hair, and the charming little harlot hanging from his arm. This one looks a little unsettled, and keeps throwing guilty glances at her, chewing on her bottom lip like she's holding the words in. You'd better feel upset, dear. I made you from head to toe, and without me, you'd still be a pretty little accessory rotting away with boredom in your golden cage. But then, that's what you are now, aren't you? A shiny bauble. Because you know you're not his first choice, but you still look good in a throne room, among the expensive vases and the tapestries.

Now they're hauling her to the stage while he follows with a wistful expression like the coward he's growing to become, and she says, thank you very much, I still have my legs, I can walk by myself, and the guard looks startled when she calls him by his first name. Of course I know who you are, you stupid fool. I always made a point to keep a tab on my subordinates. I'm glad you found reemployment so fast, by the way. Now get on with it, I'm starting to get terribly bored.

You have to understand, he says, eyes brimming with tears, and oh my, it's so sweet and moving, she'd almost cry herself if she wasn't busy being so disgusted. Please, mother, understand, I still love you…

Yes, she replies, I understand. I understand that I should have drowned you at birth. Think you're a ruler? Boy, you don't even know what you're getting into. Guts aren't something you can get with time, you have them or you don't, and at least, that girl had some. Good luck with your wonderland, little prince, you'll need it. Too bad I won't be there to see you stumble and fall, because I bet that will be one hell of a sorry show.

He's crying now, that sad excuse for royalty, and she says, oh please, quit making a fool of yourself, I didn't dilly dally that much when I sentenced _you_ to death.

They've already tied her hands, and the ancient five of spades forces her to her knee, his large strong hands bruising her shoulders through the plain white gown that looks nothing like her old ceremonial robe. She's not usually one for plain clothing, not at all, and to be honest, a little make-up wouldn't hurt, but well, this will have to do. She sees the eyes all fixated on her, some of them jubilant, and some others becoming a little fidgety, a little uncomfortable. The poor little sensitive souls probably don't like the sight of blood. Good. That'll teach them that sooner or later, everyone has to dirty their hands if they want to get somewhere.

People of Wonderland, she shouts. People of Wonderland, rejoice in your newfound freedom, rejoice while you still can! Welcome to your new world, to your new king! I gave you instant gratification, I gave you happy oblivion, and now you're going to learn what it is to live in the real world. You'll see how it tastes to have to work for what you want, and to never really hold it in your hands. You'll see that paradise is always on the other side of the fence, and that the ones who have the power are always the same. Think everything's going to be perfect now? Peace and order doesn't come down like rainfall, it's something you acquire with blood and sweat, with difficult decisions and sacrifices. And you're going to be the ones who will make them. Rejoice!

They grab her arms, hissing at her to shut up, but their voices are tentative and their movements hesitant, because she's not crying or begging or doing anything like the prisoners sentenced to death usually do, and well, she's still a queen, and it feels a little like lese-majesty. The crowd hold their breaths, and he grabs the tart's hand with shaking fingers when the man in black steps on the stage. The Red Queen throws her head back at the sky with a last, deafening laugh and roars:

"Off with my head!"

XXX

Goodie, everybody knows storybook heroes don't kill! They nicely put the meanies in prison to rot for the rest of their lives, where they can reflect about how unpleasant they've been to everyone, and highly philosophical subjects like life, death and the breeding of petunias. Maybe they'll be let out in a decade or so, and then they can start their own flowershop or something.

That's what fanfiction is for. Offscreen character death. Mwahaha.


End file.
